Make You Feel My Love: A Small Town Romantic Suspense (Wishing For A Hero Book 1)

by Kait Nolan

  Nash’s cheeks colored under the sandy scruff of his stubble. “Uh, thank you, ma’am.”

  Miss Maudie Bell looped an arm through Autumn’s. “We’re so glad you’re back. Book discussion went totally off the rails without you.”

  Autumn didn’t doubt it. Keeping this group in line was like herding a bunch of drunk cats. “I’ll do my best to get everything back on track. Where’s Miss Delia?”

  “Flirting. The boys are playing with their toy soldiers again.”

  Toy soldiers. Which meant Mark was here. Damn it. Twice a month, he hung out with the senior men, reviewing major military campaigns of history, complete with enormous maps and complements of little plastic soldiers. He hadn’t been back to the library since the day all those love scenes had been found.

  Miss Betty nudged her toward the door. “Why don’t you go get her, dearie? Your legs are a little more spry than ours.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Inwardly, Autumn cringed, but she headed into the back room of the center, where a fairly epic battle was laid out on the ping pong table.

  A cluster of elderly men were hunched over the table. At the side, Mark gestured in broad strokes, his face alight with passion for his subject.

  “You can see here, if the other Confederate generals had listened to Stonewall Jackson and marched on Washington when he suggested it, it would have cut off—” He broke off as he caught sight of Autumn, his cheeks coloring.

  She gave a little wave and wished they could still look each other in the eye. “I was just coming to retrieve Miss Delia for Book Club.”

  The older woman stepped out from behind the knot of men, preening in her purple velour track suit. “You should come join our book club, Cecil. You might learn something.” Miss Delia punctuated the statement with an unmistakable eyebrow waggle as she leaned in.

  The elderly man jolted.

  Oh my God. She totally pinched his butt.

  Message delivered, Miss Delia sailed by Autumn into the meeting room—insofar as one could sail in sensible sneakers.

  “Not going to ask,” Autumn muttered.

  She shot one last look at Mark, who studiously avoided her gaze and seemed determined to find the Battle of—whatever he was teaching—the most interesting thing ever. It was official. She would never recover from having explicit descriptions of a cock handed to a library patron. Maybe he’d start going to the library in Lawley instead and spare them both the embarrassment.

  More senior ladies were congregated in the meeting room than was usual for a book club meeting, and as soon as she stepped through the door, Autumn understood why. A banner stretched across one wall. Welcome Harper Jackson!

  Oh God, they know.

  She wrestled with instant and profound regret for not having asked what the book was today because she knew—she just knew—it would be one of hers. And that would have been better to control.

  Well, you’re in it now, Buchanan, so suck it up, Cupcake.

  Nash had positioned himself in a corner—ass to the wall, she noted—and looked like he wanted to bolt, but there was a quartet of grannies flanking him on all sides. Time to give the poor guy a rescue.

  Autumn clapped her hands for attention. “Okay y’all, let’s get started. I see several new faces since our last meeting. Welcome. Y’all probably already know each other, but let’s do a quick round of introductions for me.”

  They went through the round robin intros and Autumn picked up the thread of conversation again. “Okay, so I understand y’all already had your discussion on Dinah McClure’s Catch My Breath?”

  “Yes, we picked a new book last meeting,” Miss Betty said.

  “Okay then. Since I wasn’t part of that, perhaps one of you would like to lead the discussion?”

  “Actually, we’d love if you’ve do a reading for us,” Miss Maudie Bell said. “You do such lovely readings, and we’re so excited to read your work!”

  Maybe I can still salvage this. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I didn’t come prepared—”

  “Oh, that’s all right, honey, you can borrow mine. I have the passage marked already.” Delia handed over her ereader, a terrifying gleam in her eye.

  With some trepidation, Autumn swiped the screen awake and began to skim. The blood drained from her cheeks. Forged In Blood. Worse, it was one of the love scenes.

  Struggling to control her reaction, she arched her brows. “I’m not entirely sure this is appropriate.”

  “Oh come now, we’re all adults,” Miss Betty argued.

  “Yes, but we might scar poor Officer Brewer for life.” Autumn prayed they’d take pity on him.

  “Strapping young man like that could stand to be educated,” Miss Delia insisted.

  “Or he could plug his ears!” Miss Maudie Bell suggested. “Please read for us.”

  Autumn swallowed. She was far from prudish, but reading her work aloud in front of a crowd—especially one of the scenes she’d now experienced in a very intimate way… She could refuse, but what other excuse did she have? So she did the only thing she could. She read.

  “Lilah trembled. She didn’t know how much was from being soaked to the skin and how much was the shock starting to set in.

  “Cooper came back with a towel, wrapping it around her shoulders. ‘You’re freezing.’ He rubbed his big hands up and down her arms, and she had to resist the urge to lean into him.

  “‘It’s my fault she’s dead.’ Lilah’s teeth chattered as she said it. ‘It’s always my fault for asking the questions, breaking the rules. Someone else always pays the price. Just like you did.’

  “Eyes fierce, Cooper shook her—not hard, just enough to make a point. ‘No. Nothing about this is your fault. Nothing about what happened with your father was your fault.’

  “This was the first glimmer she’d seen of her Cooper—of the boy she’d so desperately loved. The sight of it broke her heart all over again. ‘I don’t blame you for leaving. Why would anybody stay after that hell? I’m sure being shot pretty thoroughly destroyed any delusions of love.’

  “‘My leaving had nothing to do with not loving you. I don’t blame you for what happened. And I’ve thought of you every day since I walked away.’ He tucked a chunk of her wet hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek, and she turned into the touch, needing the elusive warmth, the connection.”

  Autumn closed her eyes for a moment, remembering not tenderness, but unleashed passion as Judd’s hands speared into her wet hair and he claimed her.

  Her voice shook a little as she resumed. “‘I’ve thought about what would have happened if your father hadn’t come home that day.’

  “So had Lilah.

  “‘I wanted you.’ Cooper skimmed his thumb across her lower lip. ‘I’ve always wanted you.’

  “The touch lit little fires in her belly, along her skin, burning through the lingering cold of wet and shock. And looking up at him, into the deep blue pools of his eyes, she knew she didn’t want to walk away from this, didn’t want to walk away from him, even if they had no future. So she leaned forward, sliding a hand around his nape to pull him close enough that his lips were a whisper away from hers. ‘Then take me.’

  “His breath shuddered out, the warmth of it fanning across her mouth, and Lilah closed the distance.

  “Cooper didn’t move. His body, pressed so close to hers, hummed with leashed tension.

  “‘Please, Cooper. I need you to touch me.’ She needed this. Needed him. But that was something neither of them was ready to hear.

  “Please don’t make me beg.

  “His hands came up, tunneled into her hair as he pulled back to look into her eyes. ‘Lilah.’ That was all he said. Part question. Part apology. Part something else. And then his mouth was on hers, and she stopped asking the questions, stopped thinking entirely because she could only feel.”

  They were a rapt and attentive audience, something Autumn usually enjoyed. Not even the faint, omnipresent click clacking of knitting needles interr
upted her reading. She did her utmost to divorce herself from the fact that these were her words, immersing herself in the story. There was no stopping the blush that crept up her neck and cheeks, and Autumn cursed her red-head’s complexion. But her voice wavered only a little, even when her body flushed with remembered heat as she reached Lilah and Cooper’s climax.

  “His fingers laced with hers, an anchor as that magnificent body stroked into hers with endless, exquisite patience. He drove her up, a long, slow climb that destroyed her sense of anything but the glorious pleasure building between them. Desperation grew as he kept them there, on that narrow edge, for what felt like hours, maybe days. Lilah shut her eyes, wrapping her legs tighter around his hips, trying to pull him deeper.

  “‘Stay with me,’ Cooper rasped.

  “But she was too lost to sensation, reaching too hard for that final peak to respond.

  “‘Lilah, I need you with me.’ There was a vulnerability beneath the strain in his voice, and that pulled her back. ‘With me,’ he ordered. ‘Come with me.’

  “Opening her eyes, she stared into his. And it was Cooper—her Cooper—looking back at last. The only man she’d ever fully trusted. So she let go, crying out as waves of rippling pleasure pulled him over with her.”

  Around the room, women were fanning themselves with their ereaders or paperbacks.

  “Lord have mercy! Now that is a love scene,” Miss Delia declared.

  Echoes of agreement peppered the room.

  “So much more meaning in the context of the story,” Miss Maudie Bell said. “But still just lovely on its own.”

  So far so good. Maybe nobody had cottoned to the fact that she’d written about her and Judd. As the senior ladies took over discussion, debating whether Cooper should have stayed or gone, Autumn struggled to get her own reaction under control. The room was two shades under a hundred degrees on the best of days, and today she felt like it was a bikram book club. She didn’t dare chance a look at Nash, not wanting to see either his embarrassment or smirk if he’d gleaned what she’d actually been reading.

  “Cooper obviously did what needed doing for the purposes of the story,” Miss Betty insisted. “But what I really want to know, Autumn dear, is whether Judd’s as good in bed as he is on paper.”

  It was official. Judd hated being Chief of Police.

  He’d wanted the power and control that went with it, believing he’d be able to leverage that, when and if Jebediah got out of prison, to better protect Autumn. But his being Chief hadn’t stopped anything, and all the other responsibilities of the job were keeping him from being front and center on the investigation himself. He was having to delegate the search, as well as her protection, so he could play nice with the powers that be. And, oh goody, he had a meeting with those powers that be tomorrow for a performance review. After two weeks on the job. That didn’t bode well.

  He knew he was a good cop, but he was coming to understand he was a shit politician, and he’d absolutely underestimated how much of the job was exactly that. Robert had made it look easy. After that many years in the position, that wasn’t surprising. Judd knew he was under additional scrutiny because of his interim status. But Jesus, couldn’t they just let him alone to do his damned job?

  Armed with a big ass bag of takeout from the Lucky Palace and a six pack of beer, he tucked the folder full of research from his officers under one arm. He’d comb through all of it after dinner and maybe something would spark for a new direction to try. But first he wanted to kiss his woman and pop open one of those beers. In that order.

  His first sight of her, leaning one elbow on the kitchen island, fiery hair spilling down her back as she lifted a glass of wine to her lips, hit him in the gut and the heart. Knowing she was here, that she wasn’t leaving at the end of the night, that she’d be going to sleep in his bed, in his arms, made the big, rambling monstrosity of a house the home he’d been missing. Because she was his home. He’d wasted way too many damned years denying it.

  “—sure you don’t want a glass of wine or a beer?”

  “Not while on duty,” Nash said. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you need it more than I do after that ambush.”

  Judd snapped out of his momentary reverie and felt the headache behind his eyes ratchet up a few notches. “What ambush? What happened?”

  Autumn shifted to face him and offered wan smile. “The Casserole Patrol happened. Well, the entire seniors book club, really, but they were the ring leaders. Don’t let Nash be all modest. He bravely waded in to rescue me from a mob of nosy blue hairs.”

  “My ass will recover.” He winced. “Eventually.”

  No bodily harm. No malicious harassment. At least not the kind Judd had been prepared for. He relaxed a fraction, noting the bottle at her elbow was already half down. “Can somebody please start making sense?”

  She took another hefty sip of wine. “I’ll tell you all about it. But we should let Nash get on out of here. He’s maxed out his mortification quotient for the day. God knows, I have.”

  “Sure. Thanks for all this.”

  “Anytime. See you later, Autumn.”

  As Nash let himself out the door, Judd closed in on Autumn, caging her in on her barstool. “Am I going to need alcohol for this story?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  Nodding, he carefully plucked the glass from her fingers and set it aside. “Noted. I just need this first.”

  She flowed into him, her hands snaking up around his shoulders, her mouth opening beneath his. He tasted the boldness of the wine and the indefinable something else that was just her. Everything in him that had been wound tight eased loose. She was okay, she was still here, she still wanted him. Everything else came second to that.

  He could have chased the lust that curled through them both, boosting her up and carrying her up to bed, where they could both work off the frustrations of the day. But that was just a delay tactic. Better to get that beer and get the details out there. There’d be time to lose themselves later.

  On a sigh, he pulled back, pressing his brow to hers. “Missed you today.”

  “Mmm, missed you, too.”

  “Does it make me a Neanderthal if I say I really liked coming home to you?”

  “Only if you suddenly expect me to turn into a 1950s housewife.”

  “I came bearing Chinese takeout.”

  “Oh excellent. Humiliation goes so well with fried rice and wantons.”

  Brows up, Judd studied her face, deciding some of that flush was from the wine instead of him. “You’re already feeling that wine, aren’t you?”

  “Better the wine than the embarrassment. Which was entirely the point.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse.” She shuddered and picked up her glass.

  At this point, he was almost afraid to hear the full story. The Casserole Patrol was legendary for its nosiness, and given it was book club day and she’d recently been outed as an author, he could imagine the direction this tale would take.

  “Then let’s see about getting some food in you before you suck down much more of that wine. You don’t want to go to work with a hangover tomorrow.”

  He made a sweep of the house under the auspices of changing clothes and stowing his firearm. Once the doors were locked and the alarm reset, he went about fixing them both plates of food.

  “Before I deep dive into tales of octogenarian terror, how was your day?”

  “Meh. Less time spent on the investigation than I wanted. I brought home some stuff my officers put together, but I don’t actually expect it to be more than dead ends. I want this to be your dad so I have an excuse to put him away again. But I can’t make all the pieces fit. Some of them do, but some don’t. And if this is all meant to be some revenge is best served cold shit, then what’s the end game? And why would somebody be willing to do his dirty work for all this? He didn’t have money going into prison, and he hasn’t managed to find a job since he got out. Beyond all that…I cannot come up with any
logical way he could have found out about your alter ego. I wish I had some ideas about who else stands to benefit from all this, but right now, I just don’t.”

  As he slid onto the stool beside her, she tipped her head to his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “That’s it? You’re not freaked out by the fact that there’s a strong possibility that somebody other than your dad is out there doing this stuff?” He sure as hell was because that meant there was a threat he hadn’t seen coming, and what did that say about him?

  “I’ve had sufficient wine that whatever level of freak out is very, very muted. But either way, I trust you. I believe in your abilities as an investigator. And if it’s not my dad, then you probably need to be interrogating me about other stuff.” She straightened on the stool, swayed a little. “But maybe when I’m a bit more sober.”

  “Noted. So what happened at book club.”

  She stuffed a wanton in her mouth and washed it down with more wine. “As you might surmise, they knew about Harper.”

  “Did they hassle you about it?” He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d do to a bunch of old women, but he’d come up with something.

  “Not the way you’re thinking. They were extremely supportive and enthusiastic fans. They had me do a reading from Forged In Blood. That first love scene. So, of course, I’m already fire engine red, but I get through it. And they’re discussing the plot and character arc and a lot of the same kinds of stuff we discuss no matter what book we’re reading.”

  That didn’t sound so bad to him. “Clearly, this isn’t the end of the story.”

  “No, it is not.” She shoveled in some pork fried rice and drained the last of the glass for fortification. “And then they asked if real life you was as good in bed as you were on paper.”

  Judd choked on his egg roll.

  “Oh yeah. Yeah, they went there. Because it’s every bit as obvious as I feared to anybody who was around back in the day that Lilah and Cooper are us.”

  “You didn’t actually answer them, did you?”

  “Of course not! I’m pretty sure I just sat there looking like a gasping fish, while they continued the discussion without my contributing a word. At least until Nash waded in to rescue me. God love him.”